


The Family Charades of Whizzer Brown, Semi-Professional Sugar Baby

by flibbertygigget



Series: Family Charades 'Verse [1]
Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Angst and Feels, Dubious Consent, Family Feels, Gen, Good Parent Whizzer Brown, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Mid-Canon, Period-Typical Homophobia, Prostitution, somewhat canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 23:03:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17990165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flibbertygigget/pseuds/flibbertygigget
Summary: Whizzer's gone back to his old games (namely, being a semi-professional sugar baby) when he unexpectedly bumps into Jason.Or: Casually keeping in contact with your dad's ex-lover, the fanfic.





	The Family Charades of Whizzer Brown, Semi-Professional Sugar Baby

**Author's Note:**

> The dubious consent is in the context of Whizzer bribing someone using his sexuality. The underage prostitution is only very slightly referenced and is more of an inference than anything else.
> 
> I didn't think either of these warranted the full warnings, but I did chuck this under "Choose not to warn" just in case.

He begins his stakeout in the corner of the bar. Most queers would say to go to the clubs or the streets if you want to turn tricks, but Whizzer knows better than that. It’s a matter of projecting the right image for the type of man he wants to snag and then ensnare.

Fitted pastel shirt with the top three buttons undone. Black jeans so tight he’s practically naked. Primped hair and a sultry smirk, the kind that invites married men to forget all their vows.

He doesn’t throw himself at the first frumpy-looking thing that comes through the door. He’s not quite that desperate yet. His last fuck hadn’t wanted a regular thing, but he had paid well, and Whizzer always takes a little extra something something on the side, for expenses incurred. He still has enough to pay for another month in his shitty motel, but besides that… he’s down to his last $20, and the first thing you learn as a semi-professional sugar baby ( _ such _ a more attractive term than prostitute) is that it takes work looking this delectable.

He has other means of income, of course. He’s written and sold dirty little booklets that make fag hags go wild, the sort that have breathy, submissive bottoms and manly, semi-abusive tops, but he likes to think that he has more dignity than that. This may not be the life he imagined for himself years ago, but he sucked dick all the way up the east coast and managed to carve out a little place for himself in this soulless concrete city. He’ll be damned if he goes back to the way things were or, worse, goes back down to Georgia and begs his so-called family to reverse time and their decision to kick him out.

There, at the bar. That guy. Thinning blond hair and a beer gut that hangs from his thousand-dollar jacket like a cancerous tumor. Perfect. Even more perfect, Beer Gut seems to be looking at him.

“Hey,” Whizzer says, sauntering over to his target. “Looking for something?”

“I, uh, I was just looking around.”

“Look all you want, darling. Anything more, though…” The guy’s eyes flick to the triangle at Whizzer’s throat. His tongue darts out, wetting his lips.

“What if I want more?” Whizzer smirks, inserting himself between the guy’s legs and fingering his tie. There’s already a bulge in the guy’s trousers.

“Well, I’m sure we can work out a deal. After all, you’re rich, I’m horny. If I’m not mistaken, there may be a solution here.” The guy’s eyes flick to the bar, where his left hand (complete with a wedding band) is resting, and Whizzer places his own hand over it.

“I didn’t intend…”

“They never do, darling. We can keep this just between the two of us.” Whizzer can tell even before the guy gives a shaky nod that he’s won this round. Excellent.

* * *

It turns into a regular thing, thank God. Whizzer had been getting tired of finding new flings. He’s not cheap, either, and pays in cash rather than gifts. For the first time since Marvin kicked him out, Whizzer feels like he might be getting his feet back on solid ground.

Marvin had been a mistake. It was one thing to take someone’s time and money, but Whizzer should have known better than to believe in any feelings that Marvin could profess to have. Stupid, really. He’d been playing these games for long enough that he should have known that love is cheap and money is real. He misses it, a little, pretending that he was anything more than somebody to fuck, but this is safer. No chance of finding himself out on the street with nowhere and no one to turn to.

He’s waiting for the guy (whose name turns out to be Gabe. Ew.) when he sees him. Not Marv, thank God, but probably the second worst person. He sees Jason through the window, hands in his pockets and trying not to look like a ten-year-old kid hanging outside of a gay bar at nine in the morning. Whizzer shouldn’t get involved but, well, he never claimed to be smart. Besides, there are some pricks who’re perverted enough to see Jason existing in their orbit as an invitation.

“Come to oogle the queers?” Whizzer says. Jason jumps.

“Whizzer!” It hurts how excited the kid sounds. Whizzer takes out his sunglasses and puts them on. “What’re you doing here?”

“Oh, just passing through. Hasn’t anyone ever told you that you shouldn’t hang where the perverts live?”

“I’m not hanging anywhere,” Jason says defensively. “I’m looking for Dad.” Behind his sunglasses, Whizzer rolls his eyes.

“What’s the useless old bastard done now?”

“He somewhere last night and hasn’t come back. Mom’ll kill him if he isn’t there when she picks me up.”

“Good. Serves him right.”

“ _ Whizzer _ .”

“What?”

“What if he’s not okay?” Whizzer wants to tell Jason that if Marv’s not okay then it’s his own damn fault, that the prick knows every gay bar in New York City. But Whizzer also likes to think of himself as a good person, so when he sees how honestly worried Jason looks he sighs and holds out a hand.

“Got any dimes?”

“Huh?”

“Oh, fuck it.” Whizzer digs around in his pocket, coming up with a handful of nickels and dimes. Should be enough. “I know the places your dad likes to go. If he’s still there, they’ll tell me. Come on.” Jason’s face breaks into a blinding smile.

“Thanks, Whizzer,” he says. Whizzer feels a pang of mixed regret and anger that Marvin kicked him out. Seems he still has a soft spot for his ex’s kid after all.

It takes four phone calls and a not-so-subtle bribe to get the bar that Marvin had been at last night. It takes two more to figure out who he’d gone home with - and, yes, of course he’s with a hooker. Whizzer makes a mental note to warn the poor guy that Marvin’s a maniac.

“Got it,” he says to Jason. “The place isn’t far from here. I’ll walk you.”

“Weren’t you waiting for someone?”

“Pfft, Gabe can go choke.” And as much as Whizzer likes having a steady stream of cash, Gabe’s been getting a little  _ too _ chummy lately. It might be good to reestablish some distance, make sure that Gabe knows this is a business relationship and nothing more. That was the issue with Marvin, after all.

“Alright,” Jason says. “Thanks again, Whizzer.”

“No problemo.” Whizzer hesitates, but he really has no choice. He takes out a pen and a receipt from some place and jots down a 7-digit number and another 3-digit one. “Here’s the number for the motel I’m staying at. That’ll get you the front desk, and then you can ask for the room number, which is there. I don’t want you hanging around here.”

“Why not?”

“There are plenty of guys who’ll mess with you if you give them half the chance. So just call.” Jason seems to be studying him, and Whizzer tries to look as unaffected as he doesn’t feel. Whatever Jason sees seems to satisfy him.

“Okay. Can we go find Dad now?” Whizzer nods. It’s only four blocks to the apartment building, which is almost as rundown as Whizzer’s motel. Marvin, it seems, sure knows how to pick them.

“He’s in 318. You should be able to figure out the rest no problem.”

“Aren’t you gonna come with me?” Whizzer shakes his head.

“I have no desire to open that can of worms,” he says. “See if you can’t shame him a little for me, alright?” Jason’s lips press together in a harsh line.

“Alright,” he says. Whizzer has to wonder what exactly Jason is going to be shaming Marvin for.

* * *

The call comes more quickly than Whizzer expected. It’s still been long enough for Gabe to dump him, though, saying that he has no use for a whore who can’t even keep his appointments. Whizzer really has the worst taste in men.

“Hello?” he says into the phone. 

“Whizzer! You picked up!”

“Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I?”

“I thought that maybe you put down a fake number. Because you didn’t want me bugging you.”

“Oh, honey, this isn’t about you bugging me. It’s about the assholes that might bug you if you hang out around gay bars.”

“So you were telling the truth?”

“Of course. I’d never lie to you.” Whizzer throws himself onto the bed, skillfully avoiding the sharp, rusty bedspring. “So, how may I be of service?” There’s a long pause.

“Whizzer, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“What do you do when you like a girl?” Whizzer laughs, relieved that it isn’t something serious.

“Well, I wouldn’t know, would I?”

“Whizzer, this is serious. I like her. A lot.”

“Hmm, what’s she like.”

“Well, her name’s Rachel Goldstein. She’s the grade above me. She’s super pretty - she always wears makeup and a tight skirt and has really big… well… you know.”

“I think I catch your drift, yes.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Again, why are you asking me? Surely you’d rather talk about this with your dad or maybe with - oh, what’s-his-face, that guy who Trina’s with?”

“Mendel. My stepdad. He’s alright. I don’t want to talk to him about this, though. He’d make it weird.”

“Kiddo, this is already weird.” Jason laughs. “Even if you were into guys, I still wouldn’t be the best person to ask.”

“But you have way more boyfriends than Dad. He hasn’t even gone out with anyone since that time you helped me find him.” Oh, there is  _ so _ much that Whizzer wants to say about that. Like how Marvin hadn’t ‘gone out’ with anyone. Like how Whizzer doesn’t have boyfriends, he has clients. Like how Jason deserves better than to get embroiled in their complicated lives.

“It’s different. Trust me.” Jason makes a frustrated noise from the other end of the line, and Whizzer wracks his brains for the kind of advice an actual father would want to give. “Have you tried talking to her?”

“No way! She’d just laugh at me.”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out. If she likes you too, then you both get what you want. If she doesn’t, then you can get over her and get on with your life.” Aaand Whizzer’s a fucking hypocrite.

“Are you sure that’s how it works?”

“Of course that’s how it works,” Whizzer says. “Just be honest with her and be yourself. If it’s meant to happen, it’ll happen.”

“What if it’s like you and Dad?” Whizzer blinks.

“Now, what on earth could you mean by that?”

“What if she likes me, but I’m an asshole to her?” Whizzer pinches the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t know what to say. “Whizzer? Are you still there?”

“Yeah, of course I am,” Whizzer says. “Where else would I be?”

“What if I end up being like Dad?”

“Honey…” Whizzer sighs. He might as well destroy any relationship he might have had with the kid. It’s not like it could have lasted. “Your father and I were… complicated. He wanted love, and I just wanted his money. Your hypothetical relationship with this Ramona-”

“Rachel!”

“Rachel, right. Your hypothetical relationship won’t have those complications. You’ll both be after the same thing.”

“Okay,” Jason says. He still sounds troubled. “If Dad loved you, why was he an asshole?”

“Oh, you know how these things go. I pull away, he tries to pull me back. Sooner or later you both end up on the floor covered in shit.”

“Yeah, but you weren’t the one to break up,” Jason mutters. He makes it sound like the worst possible thing a man could do - which, to be fair, seems fairly consistent with the kid’s experience.

“Trust me, kiddo, there are worse things you can do than break up.”

* * *

Herschel is three times Whizzer’s age and needs dick pills to keep it up. He’s rich, though, and generous. It’s the exact kind of business relationship that Whizzer needs, and yet he almost turns the old man down when he sees that he lives dangerously close to the apartment that Jason, Trina, and what’s-his-face share.

Still, he cares about the money more than his personal dignity. That’s what being a semi-professional sugar baby is all about after all. (No, he isn’t bitter.)

Between trying to get to Herschel’s apartment without bumping into anyone indiscreet and sneaking around behind Herschel’s back to find a backup sugar daddy, Whizzer completely forgets to look out for sabotage from the most obvious source. Namely, the only person from his ill-advised interlude with Marvin who knows his phone number, a phone number that can be used to trace him to his shitty motel at any moment. Whizzer’s never pretended to be smart. Luckily, Jason is. Smart, that is.

“Wow, your new place stinks,” Jason says when he turns up at Whizzer’s motel room door holding a chess board and an overnight bag. Whizzer blinks down at the kid.

“Did I invite you here?” Whizzer says.

“Nope,” Jason says. “Your motel was in the phone book, though. I told Mom that I was going to spend the night at Steve Finkle’s house and that I’d catch the bus to Dad’s from there.” 

“Um, why?” Jason shrugs.

“I wanted to see you,” he says. “Can I come in?” Whizzer gives Jason a sarcastic bow as the kid walks in and plops himself down on the bed like he’s the one paying for the room. Jason opens up the chess board and starts setting up the pieces.

“You know I’m shit at chess,” Whizzer says, sitting across the board from Jason.

“I know,” Jason says. He finishes setting up the pieces and makes the first move. Whizzer moves a black pawn, wondering if this is seriously all that Jason wanted to do. He gets his answer after a few more moves.

“You kept trying to tell me that Dad wasn’t an asshole to you,” Jason says. “You know, when I called you that one time.”

“Jason…” Jason shakes his head, glaring furiously at the board.

“You don’t have to pretend he’s a good person,” he says. Whizzer opens his mouth to defend Marvin, more out of habit than anything else, but then Jason looks him in the eye. “He hit Mom.”

“Shit.” Whizzer hadn’t seen anything like that when he’d been living with Marvin and Trina, but he’d also been more concerned with manipulating Marvin than with Marvin’s ex-wife. “Was it - Did he-”

“It was only once,” Jason says. “But it was bad. Really bad. He found out that Mom and Mendel were getting married and so he hit her.” Whizzer tries to do the mental math.

“When was this?”

“Like a year ago.” So around when Marvin had decided to kick Whizzer out. Whizzer feels guilty, though he doesn’t know about what.

“I’m sorry.”

“He’s an asshole. Mom wants me to forgive him.  _ Coexist _ with him. I just want him to go jump off a building.”

“I can totally understand that.” There are more than a few things that Whizzer wants to do to Marvin now, most which have something to do with karate. “So, why did you want to come here, of all places?” Jason looks around the motel room, wrinkling his nose.

“Well, I didn’t expect it to be like this. I expected…” Whizzer rolls his eyes. Stupid rich kid. 

“Not all of us can sit around and get rich from our air-conditioned office. Some of us actually have to work for our money.”

“You don’t get enough of it.” Whizzer refuses to give into his embarrassment and look away, but he can feel how hot his face is. “Is that why you let Dad talk you into moving in with us?”

“Partly,” Whizzer says, playing with one of his rooks. “My last place was an apartment, not a motel room, and it was both more expensive and somehow shittier than here. Plus Marvin…” He hesitates. “Well, I thought he was rude, but nice. The kind of person I could trust not to kick me on the street if I made a miscalculation.” Whizzer snorts. “We both know how well that went.”

“Did you seriously not have anywhere to go?”

“Well, not right away. I managed to figure things out in the end.” After spending two nights on the street, but Whizzer isn’t about to admit that. “I’m sorry.” Jason gives him a weird look.

“About what?” Whizzer makes a sort of noncommittal gesture, but he could tell from Jason’s expression that it wasn’t going to cut it.

“About everything. I shouldn’t have moved in with you guys, shouldn’t have even screwed the bastard in the first place. I hurt you way more than necessary.” To Whizzer’s surprise, Jason laughs.

“That’s not your fault,” he says. “Dad and Mom were fighting a lot even before you showed up. Dad just thought he cared about you enough to finally leave for good, and he couldn’t even leave properly.” Whizzer shrugs.

“Still,” he says, “it’s a lot, and for what it’s worth I’m sorry.” For a while they sit in silence, playing chess, pretending that this isn’t just about the weirdest thing imaginable. Then, unexpectedly, Jason breaks the silence.

“He didn’t actually love you, you know.” Whizzer’s stomach clenches, which is just stupid. He’s over this.

“What?”

“You said that he wanted love and you wanted money like that made it alright for him to be an asshole, but he didn’t actually love you.”

“Love is complicated.”

“You don’t kick people you love out. Not for anything, but especially not for something as stupid as a chess game.” Jason looks up from the board, eyes wide. “I promise I won’t do something like that if you win! I’m sorry!” Whizzer laughs.

“I know you won’t, kiddo.”

“People are always telling me that I look like Dad,” Jason says. “I don’t want to be anything like him.”

“He has his faults,” Whizzer admits. “Still… he had his good points. Not enough good points, in my opinion, but good points.”

“Like what?” Jason challenges. Whizzer gives a smarmy grin, the sort he’s perfected on the kind of rich businessmen who like to be dominated in the bedroom.

“Well, for one, the sex was  _ excellent _ ,” he says.

“Ugh, that’s my Dad you’re talking about,” Jason says. “Besides, love isn’t sex. That’s a thing I once heard Dad tell Mom.”

“And he was right. Sex is sex, nothing special about it.” Whizzer picks at the seam of his designer jeans, which have been becoming more and more frayed-looking. “You have to understand, Jason, I’ve had a lot of men. I know how to tell when someone’s just a bad idea, and Marvin was not that.”

“There’s a difference between ‘not a bad idea’ and love,” Jason says skeptically.

“I suppose so,” Whizzer says. “When I met him, I thought he was sweet. He was the sort of person who made sure that I was comfortable, that I was as into it as he was. I’d make him food, and he ate it even if he hated it.”

“Huh?”

“I  _ know _ . Apparently what’s okay in a rent boy is unacceptable in a full-time lover. Who knew? Anyways, I knew he had a temper, but I thought I could handle it. I thought he was all talk.” Whizzer shrugs. “I guess your mother and I have both found that’s not true.”

“That’s it?” Jason says.

“What more do you want?”

“Whizzer, that’s not love. Love’s like - It’s like what Mendel has for Mom. It’s crazy and unconditional and full of bad metaphors. It’s about being with someone until you die. What you’re describing is just - it’s just-” Jason pulls at his curls, and Whizzer has the sudden, insane urge to take the kid’s hands in his before Jason does some damage. “That’s not love.”

“Maybe it isn’t. Marv sure thought it was, though.”

“Yeah, well, Dad’s an asshole.” Whizzer makes a move, and Jason takes the game. “Checkmate!”

“Good for you, kiddo.”

“I have lots of practice.” Jason looks up at him shyly. If someone manages to instill a decent fashion sense in the kid, he’ll be a heartbreaker when he grows up. “Whizzer, are you mad that I came here?” Whizzer laughs a little.

“I could never be mad at you for long, Jason.”

* * *

Jason keeps coming. Every few weeks, he’ll show up outside Whizzer’s motel room, overnight bag in tow. It’s always on Fridays, and it’s always the highlight of Whizzer’s increasingly pathetic life.

He misses Marvin. No, that’s wrong. He doesn’t kid himself anymore, doesn’t act like they could have ever worked out. What he misses is having someone to fall asleep next to at night, someone who sometimes seemed to see him as more than a cheap fuck. Not that Marvin had ever stopped harping on how cheap Whizzer was. He’d never been able to figure out if Marvin was degrading him or congratulating himself on his thrift.

The closest thing he has to that these days is Jason, and it’s pathetic how lost Whizzer knows he would feel without him.

It hasn’t been a good week. Herschel had started pushing for Whizzer to move into one of his fifteen spare rooms, and Whizzer had said no only to have a lamp thrown at him. Yohannes has been getting more and more rough, and while Whizzer has never been adverse to a little S&M this feels different. Maybe Marvin ruined him, destroyed his ability to lie back and think only about the paycheck. Maybe Whizzer’s gotten too soft to roll with the punches.

So here he is, lying around in a dirty motel room, waiting to see if Herschel will call him and wondering if he should drop contact with Yohannes. The knock on the door is just about the only thing that could cheer him up. Whizzer bounces up from the bed and opens the door.

“Jason! How’s it-” He stops. The knocker wasn’t Jason.

“Who’s Jason? One of your  _ clients _ ?” the motel manager spits. Whizzer steps back.

“Mister, uh, what’s the problem here?” he says.

“I’ll tell you what the problem is. You’re using  _ my _ motel to be a fag whore.” Oh, shit. Whizzer shouldn’t be so blindsided, but somehow he had forgotten that this was inevitable. He glances back into the room that he’d been pretending was a home for a little over a year.

“Look, I’m sure we can figure something out. You want money? I can give you something extra.” It’s not his most subtle bribe, but he hopes it might work. Sure enough, the manager’s eyes narrow.

“You think you can bribe me?” he says, sounding offended, but he’s already looking a Whizzer appraisingly. Oh.  _ Oh.  _ Well, if it lets Whizzer have a little more time to get his feet under him, he’s done worse than suck off a homophobic closet case.

“One hundred in cash,” Whizzer confirms. “You let me stay for a little longer, and then I never bother you again.”

“Two hundred,” the man barks.

“One hundred fifty,” Whizzer counters, “and I’ll throw my ass into the bargain. And I do have an excellent ass.” The asshole grabs his arm, and Whizzer does his best to bend.

It isn’t the worst he’s ever done, but it’s pretty damn close. The manager smells like shit and piss and putrid sweat, and he shoves his dick down Whizzer’s throat like he’s stuffing a turkey. And then quickly but not quickly enough it’s over, the asshole takes his money, and Whizzer is left feeling worse than he’s felt since that last fight with Marv, the one that ended with Whizzer on the street.

He’s so wrapped up in self-pity that he almost doesn’t hear the knock on the door. For a moment he wonders if it’s the manager, back to tell him that money and a blowjob weren’t enough. But then he opens the door and sees Jason standing there, looking as happy to see him as he always does.

“Whizzer!” Jason says.

“Hey, kid,” Whizzer says, wincing slightly at the way the words screech painfully from his throat. Jason’s eyebrows press together.

“Are you sick? You sound kind of sick.” Whizzer waves aside the words with a gesture he knows will make Jason giggle.

“Never mind that,” he says. His voice still sounds awful, but not as bad as before. Maybe he can do this. “Hey, how about helping me pack?”

“Pack? You’re going somewhere?”

“Yep. I’m moving up in the world.” Or he will be, just as soon as he figures out where he’s going to go. “I found a new place that isn’t full of crackheads. You’ll love it.”

“Awesome!” Jason says, sounding like he means it. Honestly, where would Whizzer be without the kid? But then Jason seems to hesitate. “Is it going to be like with Dad?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, are you moving in with one of your boyfriends because you want to live somewhere nicer?”

“Oh, honey, you make it sound so pathetic.”

“It’s not pathetic!” It is, a little bit, but Whizzer appreciates the lie. “It’s just… I don’t want someone else to throw you out like Dad did.”

“Okay, one, not everyone is an asshole. There are good men out there.” Not that Whizzer usually screws them, but that’s just an occupational hazard. “Two, I’m not moving in with anyone. I just found a better motel room.” Jason instantly relaxes.

“Oh,” he says. “Good. I want you to live somewhere nice.”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it  _ nice _ ,” Whizzer says, trying to caution Jason against getting his hopes up. “Less full of assholes, maybe, but not nice.”

“Was one of them mean to you?” Jason says. Whizzer blinks.

“What?”

“One of the crackheads, I mean.” Whizzer sighs.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” he says. “I can handle them.”

“You’re lying.” Whizzer doesn’t look Jason in the eyes. “I can tell you’re lying. Why don’t you trust me?”

“I trust you,” Whizzer says. “It’s just that this is none of your business.” Jason lets out an annoyed huff.

“Of  _ course _ it’s my business. You’re my friend.” Whizzer actually chokes up a little, which just shows how pathetic his life’s gotten. “Whizzer, I thought you were gonna always be honest with me.”

“Why would you ever think a stupid thing like that?”

“You were honest to me about therapy.” Therapy. That little spat seems like a lifetime ago now. 

“That was one this. This, though, this is just my bullshit. There’s a lot you don’t need to know, kid.”

“Whizzer, I’m not stupid. I know that you’re a hooker.” Whizzer makes a face.

“I prefer the term ‘semi-professional sugar baby.’” Jason rolls his eyes.

“Fine. The point is that I want to know if you’re in trouble, I want to know.”

“I’m not in any trouble I can’t handle,” Whizzer reassures him. And it’s true. He’s been kicked out of places for being a queer before. He’s had sex with assholes for money or as a bribe. The fact that he’s out of practice just means that he needs to regrow his thick skin.

“Alright,” Jason says, though he still sounds doubtful. “But if you are in trouble, you know you can call me, right? Mom got me my own phone in my room, and I’m always the first person to pick up.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll be fine,” Whizzer says. Jason just shakes his head and goes back to folding Whizzer’s shirts.

* * *

Herschel dumped him, but Yohannes is still there. He wants to dump Yohannes, but he can’t do that without having someone else on the docket. He tries some guy named Ricky and another who only tells him to call him Sir, but neither last long. At least the new motel is smack dab in the center of Greenwich, so he’s not likely to get kicked out again. He hooks up with the crossdresser across the hall and tries not to worry about the future.

And worrying is hard, really, when Jason’s around.

“They’re already talking about my stupid Bar Mitzvah,” he says one evening. Whizzer pauses.

“Wait, you’re twelve already?”

“My birthday was last week.” Whizzer puts his hand to his chest in mock outrage.

“And you didn’t even tell me! No, don’t argue,” because Jason looks guilty and Whizzer can’t stand it, “we’re going to go celebrate.”

“Whizzer, you don’t have to-”

“Is this about money? Don’t worry about the money.” Between Yohannes and the more conventional tricks he pulls almost every night, Whizzer can afford to spoil his favorite kid. “We are going out on the town.”

And that’s that. Whizzer drags Jason to an ice cream shop, where Jason get a banana split and Whizzer gets a chocolate shake, and then he slips out to the music store next door.

“Here,” he says, “first gift: cufflinks.” They’re a pair that Herschel gave him. Probably worth enough to last him months, but oh well. “You might have to grow into them a little, but you can modify any suit to take cufflinks and it instantly makes it look like you spent a couple hundred more than you did.” Jason takes the box it his hand, cradling it almost protectively. 

“Thanks, Whizzer.”

“Oh, no. You don’t get off that easily. Second gift,” he takes out the paper bag from the music shop. There are two cassettes inside, one Prince and one Kate Bush. “I don’t really know what kind of music you like, but-"

“They’re great,” Jason says, and he seems to actually mean it. “Thanks.” Whizzer leans back in his chair.

“So,” he says, “how have things been going? Your stepfather still alright?”

“He’s about the only one who is alright,” Jason says. “Mom and Dad don’t do anything but fight about the stupid Bar Mitzvah.” Whizzer makes a face.

“That sucks,” he says. 

“Yeah. Mendel tries to get them to stop fighting, but they’re irreconcilable. And then he tries to make me feel better by saying that everyone hates their parents.”

“Well, God knows I hate mine,” Whizzer says. Jason looks suddenly curious, and Whizzer can just tell that he’s made a terrible miscalculation. 

“Whizzer, what was your Bar Mitzvah like?” Whizzer laughs.

“Oh, it was awful. The food all tasted like shit and I had a black eye.”

“Wow. How’d you get the black eye?” Whizzer considers what to say for a moment.

“Do you want the funny version or the real version?” he says.

“I’d rather know the truth,” Jason says.

“Smart kid,” says Whizzer. “Alright, long story short, my father caught me making out with some guy named Paul.”

“He punched you?” Whizzer takes a long sip from his shake.

“Yep. Didn’t kick me out, though. He waited another three years to do  _ that _ .” Jason’s expression is way too pitying for Whizzer’s taste. “But enough about that. This is supposed to be a celebration!”

“Yeah,” Jason says, but he doesn’t sound as enthusiastic anymore. He pokes at his rapidly melting ice cream listlessly.

“Hey, Jason,” Whizzer says. Jason looks up at him. “Sorry for spoiling the mood.”

“You didn’t spoil it,” Jason says. “It’s just… I think I’ve forgiven Dad.”

“What, because mine was garbage?”

“No. I forgave him even before you told me about that.” Jason looks back down at his dish. “Do you think  _ you  _ could ever forgive him?” Whizzer thinks about it for longer than he expected to. It’s an attractive thought - to go back to the way they had been, to go back to having what felt like all the money in the world. Even the annoying parts, like being treated like a housewife and a fool, seem better than dealing with the various clients who treat him like dirt.

But no. They’d never work out. Marvin could never deal with Whizzer, and Whizzer could never deal with Marvin. Even if that hadn’t been true, it would take one hell of an apology to make up for throwing Whizzer out with nowhere to turn to.

“I don’t think so, kiddo,” Whizzer says at last, surprised by how much regret he felt at that. “We just… wouldn’t work out.”

“But what if he changed?”

“That’s unfair to him, honey. You can’t expect a man to change - or a woman, for that matter. If you’re going to get involved with anyone, you have to take them exactly as they are. Which means that, as far as I’m concerned, Marvin will always be psychotic and I’ll always be an irredeemable whore.” 

“I don’t think you’re an irredeemable whore,” Jason says. Whizzer laughs.

“Jason, my nickname is  _ Whizzer _ . I get paid in gifts and $20 bills. I am the very definition of irredeemable whore.”

“No, you’re a semi-professional sugar baby,” Jason says. “And if you’re not an irredeemable whore, then maybe Dad isn’t as psychotic anymore.” Whizzer twirls his straw between his fingers.

“Well, you’d know better than me,” he admits. “I’m still not going out with the asshole, though.”

* * *

It takes six months for Whizzer to crack. Six months of Jason’s visits and phone calls. Six months of pulling tricks and dying by degrees. Six months before he finally accepts one of Jason’s invitations.

“Fine, I’ll go to your Little League game,” Whizzer says. He’s curled up on the bed, trying to ignore the way his body aches. His body always seems to ache these days. “But if Marvin is an ass, you owe me a soda.”

“Yes, Whizzer,” Jason says, and Whizzer can just tell that the kid is rolling his eyes. He grins.

“Hey, I expect you to hit a dozen home runs for me.”

“Whizzer, we’re all Jewish. Our team sucks.”

“Honey, I’m half-Jewish, and I’m good at baseball.”

“You probably got that from your goy side.”

“Tell you what, I’ll go if you let me show you how to swing.” Jason giggles. He’s getting so much better at identifying Whizzer’s unique combination of dad jokes and gay jokes. Either that, or he’s stopped being so nervous about potentially being a homosexual. “But seriously, no kid that I am in any way connected to is going to be a disgrace in baseball. You’ll at least look good doing it. Who knows, maybe it’ll get you a girl."

“Girls don’t like baseball,” Jason says with the certainty of a twelve-year-old idiot. 

“Uh-huh. You sure you want to risk that?” Jason laughs again.

“I should probably go,” he says. “Just remember to give Dad a chance, okay? He might be an ass, but he’s alright.” Whizzer sighs.

“I’ll do my best, kiddo,” he says. Privately, he thinks that getting back with Marvin isn’t half as important to him as being there for Jason. Still, he’ll keep his mind open. There’s no harm in giving Marvin a chance to destroy the image that Jason has been trying to rebuild.

He’ll just have to wait and see.


End file.
